#Allison/Axel

[talia-the-gemini]

ℭ𝔞𝔩𝔪 𝔟𝔢𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯m

𝙼𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜, 𝚃𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚔𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚘���� 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚊 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚙𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚢𝚙𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙷𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜, 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢'𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎?

°•Prologue•°

Summary: After the near apocalypse in 2019, in a last stich effort to save the family Five blips all of you into the past, you and your siblings get teleported in between 1959 and 1963.

You were transported to February 1959.

You are the 8th Hargreeve member, your power is the ability to foresee the future (basically alice from twilight just better).

Paring: The swedes x reader poly

Word count:395 (very short ik T-T)

Warnings: None

Masterlist

Flashback

On April the 1st, 2019, the earth was destroyed in a cataclysmic event. Billions of people were wiped out in a matter of minutes. Ironically, the seven survivors of the apocalypse were the very siblings who brought it on.

10:00 AM

LOCATION:UNKNOWN

DATE:UNKNOWN

Falling through Five’s big bright blue blip onto hard, solid concrete in an alleyway was not what you were expecting. Wincing from the impact, you look at the blip anticipating for your siblings to fall with you. “KLAUS,DIEGO?”

You call out desperately for your family but to no avail they don't respond. After a few seconds more, the gateway closes, leaving you without a way out or siblings. Shifting to stand you survey your surroundings.

“Fuck, where am I?” Stumbling down the alleyway. “Holy shit..” You stare in awe at the historic sight in front of you. Different colored Cadillacs, Plymouth Barracudas, and Ford Mustangs, People wearing old timey clothing, many shops and a few diners line the streets as well. Glancing to the left of yourself you notice a discarded magazine with the date ‘FEBUARY 2ND 1959’.

END OF FLASHBACK

That was almost four years ago, so far you’ve acquired a semi stable job, a decent sized but cozy house and the cutest house cat (a fluffy black cat named Cinder).

After four years of barely paying bills and living by yourself in a different timeline you decided to get a roommate, to maybe ease the loneliness and help around the house and with bills, so you come up with an amazing idea, why don't you put up and add for a room for rent? Honestly the best idea you’ve had for a long time.

8:00 AM

LOCATION: DALLAS, TEXAS

DATE:JANUARY 4TH 1962

It's early in the morning, a soft breeze ruffles the trees in the backyard. You simultaneously stir your tea as you're lost in thought as you stare out the kitchen window, Cider hops onto the bench, purring while rubbing his head on your arm.

‘Thump,Thump,Thump’ The sound of soft but heavy knocking breaks your train of thought “Coming!” you hastily make your way to your front door, peeking out the side window next to the door you notice three figures, most likely male by stature. Opening the door cautiously you look at the three blonde men in front of you. 

[madebysimblr]

José: Axel!? I thought you were leaving early this morning for your Dad's??

Axel: [snorts] Would you believe it, but those plans fell through again. All of a sudden I can't stay with him for the summer. I kinda get why Zane gave up with him.

Allison: Yikes.

Axel: [shrugs] It means I can go to Zane's wedding. I was a little bummed I was goin' to miss it. And it means I get to hang out with you guys! Whatcha up to?

Allison: The usual, trying to write music. Forming a band. Still don't have a guitarist... Hey Axel, you play guitar, right?

Axel: I do! You two finally gonna ask me to join the band?

José: What you want to!?

Axel: Duh! Dunno why you hadn't asked me yet. I was startin' to feel forgotten about.

José: Could never forget about you... Just uh, wasn't sure that you'd be interested. That's all.

Allison: Well now that's all cleared up, let's teach you the one song we have.

Axel: Sweet! Lemme go grab my guitar.

[jasvvy]

[silksufjan]

hot takes on what the foxes have on their playlists (period accurate)

andrew: Axel F by Crazy Frog, Holiday by Green Day, I’m Not Okay (I Promise) by MCR, This Ain’t A Scene It’s An Arms Race by FOB

neil: anything that’s on the radio but he has a fondness for Paramore’s Riot! and death cab for cutie

dan: Rihanna (specifically Pon de Replay), Dear Maria Count Me In by All Time Low, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Breakaway by Kelly Clarkson

kevin: Big Girls Don’t Cry by Fergie, Gold Digger by Kanye, U Don’t Know Me by T.I, tbh Britney (he feels a kinship with her as someone hounded by the paparazzi)

renee: Sufjan Stevens, New Slang by the Shins, Put Your Records On by Corinne Bailey Rae, Coldplay… (she would love Fix You im sry…)

matt: Cupid’s Chokehold by Gym Class Heroes, Nas (& east coast hip hop in general), The Fray, Crank That (Soulja Boy)

nicky: Everytime We Touch by Cascada, My Boo by Usher and Alicia Keys, Gwen Stefani, Poker Face by Lady Gaga

aaron: Feel Good Inc by Gorillaz, Mr. Brightside by the Killers, Muse, Nickelback

allison: Don’t Cha by the Pussycat Dolls, Don’t Phunk With My Heart by Black Eyed Peas, Amy Winehouse, Nelly Furtado

seth: Eminem. Pain by Three Days Grace, Low by Flo Rida

[short-and-ugly]

If you're reading this I've finished my TWO WHOLE playlists!

Here's the infinitely superior DROPBOX link to the two:

The caveat to these being that you would need to download the playlists yourself to get the fullest experiences. But like. It's totally worth it. Prommy. Super duper prommy. Please.

Here are the timestamps for the longer versions:

SKOODGE:

00:00 - Losers by The Cardigans 3:18 - Happy/Ugly by Car Seat Headrest 6:16 - Sweet Talk by Saint Motel 9:28 - Step On Me by The Cardigans 13:17 - You name it, I’ll eat it (Bring The Hate Like An 808) by Talkshow Boy 15:02 - Jenny by The Orion Experience 18:19 - I Bet On Losing Dogs by Mitski 21:09 - Will You Wanna Live If You Can't Torture Me Every Day? by Star Kid 23:15 - Ruin My Life by Lusha 25:28 - Best Person You Know by Lowertown 30:18 - Tainted by MOP 32:32 - Strange by Celeste 36:47 - Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now by The Smiths 40:23 - I Feel A Little Bit Ugly Today by Su Lee 42:05 - 9 to 5 by Mustard Service 44:29 - Soldier In A Box by Hot Hot Heat 47:40 - Put Me To Work by Big Data 51:59 - Misery Meat by Sodikken 53:04 - Salivating by Sir Chloe 55:31 - Wars of Expansion by Space Cadets 59:52 - Normalize by Mother Mother 1:04:12 - I Don't Wanna Die by The Unicorns 1:06:15 - What Do They Know? by Mindless Self Indulgence 1:09:24 - Don't Bury Me I'm Not Dead Yet by The Riverboat Gambles 1:12:11 - Karma by AJR 1:16:18 - All I Need by Radiohead 1:20:04 - Everyone Adores You (At Least I Do) by Matt Maltese 1:23:26 - Death, Thrice Drawn by The Scary Jokes 1:26:26 - Side Character by Cloudfodder 1:29:42 - Honeysuckle by Pom Pom Squad 1:33:01 - Love's Caress by Moon Visions 1:37:52 - Never Ever Getting Rid Of Me from Waitress The Musical

PUNCHBUGGY/ZASR:

00:00 - Outside With The Cuties by Frankie Cosmos 02:33 - No Tomorrow by Le Matos (feat. PAWWS) 07:03 - 16 Mirrors by Alex G 08:30 - Ugly by Huxlee 11:05 - Glue by PHF 14:21 - Errasuriz by Kiltro 19:30 - Thermodynamic Lawyer, Esq, G.F.D. by Will Wood 23:06 - Drink To Me by Pleasantries 26:02 - Bubblegum by Matt Correa 29:37 - Second Best by Laufey 33:01 - I Hate Everyone But You by Elita 35:53 - Animal by Neon Trees 39:25 - Scroll Patrol by Rinse & Repeat 42:37 - From The Gallows by I Don't Know How But They Found Me 45:20 - Love Me Too Much by Carseat Headrest 48:41 - Ofelia by Kiltro 52:59 - Caroline Please Kill Me by Coma Cinema 54:50 - Love Me Dead by Ludo 59:11 - Cinnamon Bone by Eliza Rickman 1:02:18 - the perfect pair by beabadoobee 1:05:15 - Twilight by Boa 1:09:03 - Cellophane by Pom Pom Squad 1:12:36 - Oh My God by Bats 1:16:30 - You'd Like Me More by Axel & Lolo 1:20:13 - I Don't Know by You The Marias 1:23:43 - Break My Stride by Mattew Wilder 1:26:45 - Adorable by Artist Vs Poet 1:30:17 - My Ugly Mouth by Meg & Dia 1:33:52 - passing papers by egg 1:36:43 - I Was An Island by John-Allison Weiss 1:39:31 - Best Friend by Laufey 1:42:17 - Turn by The Wombats 1:45:42 - Best Friend by The Moving Stills 1:48:36 - Two Time by Jack Stauber 1:51:00 - Healing by Oh Honey 1:54:25 - Grew On Me by Chonny Jash 1:58:56 - milksugar by crushed 2:04:35 - Talk Like That by Wallows 2:06:36 - That Thing That You Do by Cody Fry 2:10:12 - I Think I Love You by The Patridge Family 2:13:04 - If I'm Being Honest by Dodie 2:17:45 - The Whole World And You by Tally Hall 2:19:31 - Valentine by Laufey 2:22:17 - Little Person by Matt Maltese 2:25:39 - Pink In The Night by Mitski 2:27:59 - Red With Love by Pom Pom Squad 2:30:28 - Poisoning Pigeons In The Park by Tom Leher 2:32:33 - Pretty Ugly by Bumblefoot 2:34:42 - End Of The by Earth Marina 2:38:24 - Deep Green by Marika Hackman

... but if you don't wanna go through the commitment of listening to these, here's the youtube versions:

... and HERE'S THE FULL YOUTUBE PLAYLISTS!!! HAHAHAHAHAA GOTCHA!!! YOU DUMB IDIOT!!!!!! YOU'RE IN IT DEEP NOW!!!! GO LISTEN TO IT. GO LISTEN!!!!!!!!! PLEASE. ALL TWO HUNDRED OF THE SONGS ON EACH OF THEM. NOW.

[fireflycollectivelibrary]

hi! names related to again & again by The Bird and The Bee + over & over by Rio Romeo? thanks in advanced!

yes of course! i had never heard these songs before, but they're lovely! since you didn't state a preference, i'll do all three! (These are just kinda names that I got based on the vibes of the songs!)

masc ; Nicky, Nick, Tyler (Ty), Blake, Cody / Codee / Codey, Rody / Rodee / Rodey, Mac, Drew, Ryan / Ryann / Rhyan / Rhyann (Ry / Rhy), Cassian, Calvin / Kalvin, Kase / Case, Forrest / Forest, Axle / Axel, Micah / Mikah / Mica / Mika, Troy

neu ; Spike, Callie / Calli / Kali, Kal / Cal, Cameron / Kameron (Cam / Kam), Dakota, Charlie / Charly / Charli (Char / Lee), Adrian, River, Raine / Rayne, Ash, Cass, Kasey / Casey, Sage

femme ; Rho / Ro, Zeta, Morganne / Morgane / Morgan / Morgaine, Sue, Rue, Melanie (Mel), Katherine (Kath), Lillian (Lil / Lilli), Jo-An / Jo-Anne / Joan / Joanne, Jo, Anne, Allison (Al), Nikki / Nicki, Cassandra

btw if it's name / name its different spellings and if its name (name) its potential shortenings or nicknames!

[blaseballshipbracket]

BLASEBALL SHIP BRACKET ROUND 1

64 ships enter, one ship leaves! who will reign supreme? how will your faves fare? it's a tlournament for the ages!

this is a seeded bracket generated from ships suggested in a google form. round 1 begins thursday, 03/30/23 and will run for one week. propaganda is encouraged - tag this blog and i'll share it!

ROUND 1 MATCHUPS:

Megan Ito/Parker MacMillan VS Leon Duncan/Andrew Trebek

Finn James/Kennedy Loser VS Hewitt Best/Yeong-Ho Garcia

Flattery McKinley/Niq Nyong'o VS Jessica Telephone/Betsy Trombone

Tillman Henderson/Declan Suzanne VS Don Mitchell/Percival Wheeler

Baldwin Breadwinner/Alyssa Harrell VS Axel Cardenas/Miguel Wheeler

Dominic Marijuana/Andrew Solis VS Eduardo Ingram/Leach Ingram

Pedro Davids/Valentine Games VS Anathema Elemefayo/Patty Fox/Hatfield Suzuki

Stevenson Heat/James Mora VS Baby Triumphant/Castillo Turner

Yosh Carpenter/Sebastian Woodman VS Cannonball Sports/Bees Taswell

Igneus Delacruz/Howell Franklin VS Mcdowell Mason/Sexton Wheerer

Allison Abbott/Kichiro Guerra VS Eugenia Garbage/Ziwa Mueller

Caleb Alvarado/Isaac Johnson VS Conner Haley/Sebastian Telephone

Brock Forbes/Adalberto Tosser VS Domino Bootleg/Theodore Honeywell

Lenny Marijuana/Chorby Short VS Moody Cookbook/Landry Violence

Margarito Nava/Nic Winkler VS Riley Firewall/Geraldine Frost

Inez Owens/Bees Taswell VS Paula Turnip/Hiroto Wilcox

Tyreek Olive/Landry Violence VS Fitzgerald Blackburn/Math Velazquez

Val Hitherto/Nerd Pacheco VS Ortiz Lopez/Pitching Machine

Luis Acevedo/Tot Clark VS Derrick Krueger/Sebastian Telephone

The San Francisco Lovers VS Gita Sparrow/Jayden Wright

Tillman Henderson/Mike Townsend VS Famous Owens/Mclaughlin Scorpler

Alaynabella Hollywood/Magi Ruiz VS Nerd Pacheco/Lars Taylor

Nagomi Mcdaniel/York Silk's Mom VS Qais Dogwalker/Grollis Zephyr

Jacob Haynes/Alaynabella Hollywood/Moses Mason VS Burke Gonzalez/Brock Watson/Joshua Watson

Jaylen Hotdogfingers/Jessica Telephone VS Juice Collins/Sutton Dreamy

Sandford Garner/Don Mitchell VS Famous Owens/Nerd Pacheco

Rivers Rosa/Lou Roseheart VS Jode Crutch/Rush Ito

Declan Suzanne/Edric Tosser/Baby Triumphant VS Lady Matsuyama/Bottles Šuljak

Cornelius Games/Richardson Games VS Mags Banananana/Eugenia Bickle

Workman Gloom & PolkaDot Patterson VS Shannon Chamberlain/Kennedy Loser

Caligula Lotus/Beck Whitney VS Steals Mondegreen/Silvaire Semiquaver

Summers Preston/Stephanie Winters VS Haruta Byrd/Bright Zimmerman

[eggcrackerbracket]

Hi!

I have some announcements to make,

Firstly, I'm currently visiting family right now so the bracket may be up later than I expected, sorry about that (I'll still try and answer any of your asks as best as I can).

Secondly, I can't tag for shit, (I am very new to tumblr) so I don't know what character specific tags to use so let me know if there are any specific tags to use.

Thirdly, I'm proud to reveal the pairs competing in this bracket, in no specific order (sorry there are no pictures):

Dave Strider (Homestuck) & Stiles (Teen Wolf)

Alex Fierro (Magnus Chase) & Elizabeth (Visual Prison)

Link (Legend of Zelda) & Sabi Mehboob (Sort Of)

Haruhi Fujioka (Ouran High Host Club) & Bill (Promethea)

Howl (Howl's Moving Castle) & Shiver (Splatoon)

Kris (Deltarune) & Franken Stein (Soul Eater)

Mettaton (Undertale) & Harrowhark (The Locked Tomb)

Nico di Angelo (Percy Jackson) & Arya Stark (A Song of Fire and Ice)

Naoto Shirogane (Persona 4) & Yuri Rurikawa (Act Addict Actors!)

Ranma Saotome (Ranma 1/2) & Sokka (Avatar: the Last Airbender)

Zuko (Avatar: the Last Airbender) & Pidge Gunderson (Voltron)

Hiccup (How to Train your Dragon) & Princess Mononoke (Princess Mononoke)

Danny Phantom (Danny Phantom) & Angel Demon (Chainsaw Man)

Hunter (The Owl House) & Seadall (Fire Emblem)

Gomez Addams (The Addams Family) & Conel.EXE (Megaman Battle Network)

Charlie Kelly (It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia) & Garmadon (Ninjajo)

Jim Jimenez (Our Flag Means Death) & Kakashi Hatake (Naruto)

Stevonnie (Steven Universe) & Aubrey (OMORI)

Gonzo (The Muppets) & Sapphire (Princess Knight)

Allen Walker (D. Gray Man) & Raven (Teen Titans)

Jim Hawkins (Treasure Planet) & Spock (Star Trek)

Madeline (Celeste) & Oliver Swift (Dialtown)

L Lawliet (Death Note) & Larry Needlemeyer (Amazing World of Gumball)

Edward Elric (Fullmetal Alchemist) & Helia (Winx Club)

Zagreus (Hades) & Yami Yugi (Yugioh)

Lake (Infinity Train) & Kitty Pryde (Marvel comics)

Sherlock Holmes (Various Sources) & Makoto Yuki (Persona 3)

Ed (Cowboy Bebop) & Boyd (Ducktales)

Mulan (Mulan) & Bow (She-Ra and the Princesses of Power)

Fionna the Human (Adventure Time) & Anakin Skywalker (Star Wars)

Inosuke Hashibara (Demon Slayer) & Emily (Thomas and Friends)

ENA (ENA) & Joey/Rojo (Ben 10)

Marshall Lee (Adventure Time) & Alonzo (Cats)

Aziraphale (Good Omens) & Marcy Wu (Amphibia)

Dipper Pines (Gravity Falls) & Bee (Bee and Puppycat)

Stanford pines (Gravity Falls) & Yakko Warner (Animaniacs)

Bridget (Guilty Gear) & Ema Skye (Ace Attorney)

Testament (Guilty Gear) & Sailor Uranus (Sailor Moon)

Nagisa (Assassination Classroom) & Allison (The Breakfast Club)

Dirk Strider (Homestuck) & Klaus (Umbrella Academy)

Ghost (Call of Duty) & Sebastian (Stardew Valley)

Grell Sutcliff (Black Butler) & Sonic (Sonic the Hedgehog)

Ping (Mulan) & Kaoru Sakurayashiki (Sk8 the Infinity)

Eijiro Kirishima (My Hero Academia) & Kou Seiya (Sailor Moon)

Hawks (My Hero Academia) & Axel (Kingdom Hearts)

Blackbeard (Our Flag Means Death) & Tails (Sonic the Hedgehog)

Princess Ozma (Oz) & Princess Peach (Mario Series)

Team Rocket (Pokemon)

Mizuki Akiyama (Project Sekiai) & Wade Wilson (Marvel comics)

Utena Tenjou (Revolutionary Girl Utena) & Rodrick Heffley (Diary of a Wimpy Kid)

Crona Gorgon (Soul Eater) & Shuichi Saihara (Danganronpa)

Luz (The Owl House) & Spamton (Deltarune)

Morpheus, Dream of the Endless (The Sandman) & Barney Guttman (Dead end Paranormal Park)

Mad Mew Mew (Undertale) & Jesse Pinkman (Breaking Bad)

Cecil Palmer (Welcome to Night Vale) & Trunks (DBZ)

Sheik (Legend of Zelda) & JFK (Clone High)

Kara Zor-El (DC comics) & Legoshi (Beastars)

Wheatley (Portal 2) & Fluttershy (MLP)

Shinji Ikari (Neon Genesis Evangelion) & The green M&M (M&M’s)

Yellow (Pokemon Adventures) & Anne Boonchuy (Amphibia)

Yukiko Amagi (Persona 4) & Steven Universe (Steven Universe)

Peppino (Pizza Tower) & Jason Todd (DC comics)

Mahiru Koizumi (Danganronpa) & Megamind (Megamind)

Itsuka Kendo (My Hero Academia) & Miles Edgeworth (Ace Attorney)

-Mod Sky

[vel-hell-ael31]

Introduction

Full name: Axel Marc Anthonyson

Nicknames: Axie -Anthony -Tony - Sonny - Single Father- Greñas

Sexuality: ⚣ Gay

Ethnicity: American 🇺🇸

Place of birth: Columbus, Ohio, United States

☆彡彡-Physical Appearance- ミミ☆

Age: 17

Eye color: Hazelnut

Hair color: Dark brown

Hair style: Curly. Mullet, cut on the sides of the head.

Height: 1'85cm

Voice: Warm. Don't worry. Intimidating when angry or upset

☆彡彡-Favorites-ミミ☆

Color: Green, Black, White and Brown

Animal: Cats, dogs, parakeets, ferrets and lizards

Other: Spend time with his friends. Watch movies. Go anywhere on a skateboard.

Hobbies: Draw. Go do Graffiti. Read. Write. Listen to music. Go for a walk with her pets. To be with her friends. Art. Photography. Basketball. Guitar

☆彡彡-Family-ミミ☆

Mother: ✝︎ Laila Steward

Born 07/18. She die at the age of 48.

Father: Jake anthonyson

Born 01/23

☆彡彡-Relations-ミミ☆

Best Friends: Arthur D'Oyly and Isabella Ruiz

Crush: ????

Couple: ????

☆彡彡-Traits-☆彡彡

Introvert. From time to time arrogant. Faithful. Genuine. Somewhat demanding with his work. Considered. He is usually spiteful when someone deceives him or is disloyal. Honest. Comprehensive. Protective. Tolerant. calm and patient

CHARACTERS!

↓

──── ❝Axel Anthonyson❞ ───

"The art boy"

▪17▪

❝1.85m❞

⚣ gay

●○●○ဗီူ●○●○

[Neta, are you telling me that those five sticks are a person? We have quite a lot of work to do if you want to pass...]

─── ❝Rodrick Heffley❞ ───

"The boy in the band"

▪16▪

❝1,70m❞

⚥Bisexual

●○●○ဗီူ●○●○

[Let's see, sir "I know how to draw and you don't" How the hell do you want me to draw it? Look at him, my brother is literally a stick. ]

──── ❝ Isabella Ruíz❞ ───

"The Bestie Goss"

▪16▪

❝1,60m❞

⚢Lesbian

○●○●○●○

[Just look in the mirror Ax; you're the graphic representation of "lovesick fool" And no, I don't make that face with Allison.]

──── ❝Arthur D'Oyly❞ ───

"The DJ Friend"

▪16▪

❝1.78m❞

⚥Pansexual

⚲ Gender Fluid

●○●○●○●○

[Brother, what do you want me to tell you...if you don't keep it, someone else will take it, or worse, another. Now help me make Maxie jealous at the party. ]

───❝Allison Williams❞───

"The bad girl"

▪17▪

❝1'67❞

Bi-curious(?

●○●○●○●○

[Hum... Maybe she fell to the ground and searched badly. But, one thing... What was that "she's eating Allison" scandal, huh? Do you like the idea? that's why you're so red right?]

────❝Lucian Smith❞───

"The German Boy"

▪16▪

❝1'80❞

⚥Pansexual⚥

●○●○●○●○

[What do you want me to tell him? Hey, hello... I'm Lucian, I've wanted to talk to you since the beginning of the course... But I didn't dare until now, you seem very cute... He's behind me, right?]

────❝Maxie Miller❞───

"The boy from the skating rink"

▪16▪

❝1'76❞

⚥ Bisexual

●○●○●○●○

[Hello, some skates for two hours please... You're Arthur, from my class, right?]

──── ❝Jake Anthonyson❞ ───

"The father"

▪57▪

❝1.80❞

⚤ Straight

●○●○●○●○

[I know that since mom is not here I have focused only on the company... But honestly I am very proud of you.]

┅┅┅┅┅┅┅༻❁༺┅┅┅┅┅┅┅

✰ Glance is a fanfic inspired by the Disney movies "The Diary of a Wimpy Kid" which in turn is based on the book series by author Jeff Kinney. But the story of Axel, his friends and Rodrick is completely mine.

✰ Character information taken from Wikipedia, Fandom and Amino. The height is an approximation.

✰ The photos are not mine, only the edited ones. Credits to their respective owners.

✰ Possible containing +18 (it will be notified before its appearance) and profanity.

✰ Efforts will be made to follow the thread of the series

✰ Story with Homosexual content. gay. yaoi. If you don't like it, I kindly ask you to withdraw without making bad comments

✰ There will be some other misspelling that will be corrected later. I make mistakes, I'm not a machine. Of course, he accepted constructive criticism and so on, but said with respect, not with mockery or etc.

✰ If you have any ideas or suggestions, you are free (obviously if you wish) to tell me privately or in the comments. Even if it's something minimal, you can tell me, it won't bother me, rather, you'll make my day

✰ I will try to narrate and make it understandable as well as possible.

✰ From time to time, it is inevitable for me to have some writer's block. I hope you understand me

✰ My native language is not English. I am very sorry if there are mistranslated or misspelled words.

✰ The story will start with some events from the first book/movie and then something from before the second book/movie "Rodrick's Law" although most things will come from my imagination, there will be references and situations based on the books/movie.

(Boys love)

The story is about a homosexual couple of men. If you don't like this containing, I ask you to refrain from making any bad comments and retire.

(Girls Love)

The story will also deal in part with a homosexual couple of women. If you do not like this content, please refrain from making any bad comments and retire.

[deborahdeshoftim5779]

To nobody's surprise, the accused murderer of three British schoolgirls in Southport during the summer appears to have been an Islamic terrorist.

If this is proven in court, then the British government, the media establishment, and numerous prominent members of our society may have colluded to prevent us from drawing what appear to be obvious conclusions about the ethnicity, religion, and motivations of this accused killer.

If proven true, then the police will need to explain precisely why they had initially discounted Islamic terrorism as a motivation for the killings. At what point did they locate the al-Qaeda training manual that Axel Rudakubana is accused of owning?

Meanwhile, the establishment didn't hesitate to publicly identify and lock up white British rabble-rousers and bigots.

I don't know who the establishment thinks it is fooling. Everyone can see the double standard. And it was that double standard that provoked rioting during the summer.

Allison Pearson of the Telegraph sums things up thus:

We don’t know for certain what the motives of the alleged attacker were; they will be determined at the trial. What we do know, from bitter experience, is that any crime which may or may not turn out to have an Islamist or jihadist component is treated with extreme defensiveness and secrecy by the police, government, security services and Left-wing commentators. The pattern goes something like this:

a. Suppress information on the identity and ethnicity of the suspect (most likely revealed by the media).

b. Criticise perfectly understandable public speculation and anger about the alleged attacker.

c. Deny the attack is related to terrorism. Also deny the alleged attacker was ever on the radar of the security services.

d. Once alleged attacker’s identity is revealed, release sweet, angelic childhood photo. Also emphasise good character of alleged attacker – he wanted to be an architect, helped old ladies cross the road, neighbours said what a lovely chap, etc - and don’t mention any previous criminal record or negative comments.

e. Police issue stern warning about online “misinformation”. Narrative shifts as fast as possible to disgusting “hate speech” on social media and away from truly disgusting killings.

f. Prominent Left-wing commentators fret about “disinformation” and “Islamophobia” and don’t mention names of victims who are quickly forgotten.

g. Politicians avoid awkward conversations about failures of multiculturalism, mass immigration and lack of integration and suggest the solution may be more online censorship. (After the murder of Sir David Amess, MPs in the Commons actually said the lesson of his killing by a young, knife-wielding jihadist was that politicians needed to be nicer to each other. Yes, really.)

h. Public encouraged to participate in touching displays of peaceful commemoration and reconciliation. (Don’t Look Back in Anger is what crowds sang after the mass murder of young people and their parents by a suicide bomber at an Ariana Grande concert at Manchester Arena.)

i. Cancel all of the above if attacker turns out to be far-Right and white. Phew! Huge relief all round.

j. News cycle moves on past horrific crime and postpones any further discussion of the causes until a trial and/or public inquiry makes such embarrassing disclosures hard to avoid.

Not only do we deserve the full truth about the accused Southport killer; we also deserve the full truth about the level of Islamist infiltration of Britain and the scale of current terrorist threats. Because it was already demonstrated in the Shawcross Report that the government had been exaggerating the threat of extreme right-wing terrorism, while underplaying the far more immediate and dangerous threat of Islamic terrorism.

As long as the British people continue to feel duped by the establishment, we will engender a dangerous atmosphere where people feel no respect for the rule of law and public order. It's time for the establishment to stop obfuscating and deceiving. Give us all the facts.

[dogmetaph0r]

SIC 'EM

Chapter 5: Wait

A/N: I have no clue what a mews is supposed to look like and at this point I'm too afraid to ask! We're having a lil fun with this one because I decided the Angstiest People In The World deserve a little break and to have a nice time. Plus some... plot :) (we are going to ignore the fact that the soundtrack is entirely Hozier lolllll shhhh it's a nice summer at Arrow House don't judge me)

Pairings: M!OC x F!OC, M!OC x Tommy Shelby, Tommy Shelby x Grace Burgess, F!OC x Grace Burgess if you squint real hard

Warnings: descriptions of violence/blood and injury (flashback only)

Soundtrack: Wildflower and Barley - Hozier & Allison Russell // Do I Wanna Know? - Hozier (cover) // Sweet Thing - Hozier (cover)

Summary: Summer in Warwickshire brings a much-needed reprieve from the violence and fear upturning Fia and Sam's life. Fia makes a much-needed friend, Sam faces his fears, and Grace convinces Tommy to be a good host for once. A thought in the back of Sam's mind bothers him again... but what else is new?

Things happened quickly, far faster than what Fia would’ve liked. Under the solemn cloak of night, hoofbeats on cobblestone were the only sound to disturb the eerie silence. The axels had been greased, everything fastened down in such a way that not a single rattling thunk reached the world outside. On top of that, the lantern and fires were both out– Lord only knew how Sam could see between the thick darkness and the solid knock to his head, but he insisted on driving the horses onward himself so as to not put her at risk. Gentlemanly, yes, but ultimately a bit of a foolhardy task with no fucking lights.

Fia braced herself by wedging into the space between the hard outer wall of the fireplace and the drawers bedecked with delicate hand-painted chicory blossoms. Idly, or out of lack of control for any other element of the situation she found herself in, Fia prayed that Sam would drive on carefully enough that the heel of her riding boot wouldn’t scratch the varnish.

She only wished that she were slightly less pregnant at the time, because as it stood, the little one had very contently wedged themself into her bladder. It was, as one might imagine, a problem. This was exacerbated by the next big problem: she wasn’t sure she could get up from this spot without help. Bitterly, she thought back to when Sam insisted she sit on the cushioned bench at the very least, but Fia, an evident strategist, had chosen the fucking floor because she figured being out of sight would be safer if they were being followed by hidden assailants. Genius, that. Truly an intellectual choice.

So yes, perhaps she was a bit upset. And uncomfortable. And exhausted from the worrying she’d been doing. And— oh look at that, she’d picked the old scabs on her thumb until they became new scabs.

Fuck Tommy Shelby, she thought. Fuck every ounce of his miserable existence. Fuck his stupid razor gang, fuck his stupid accusations, fuck his stupid hoardes of wealth. Unable to sleep, she occupied her time listing the ways in which she detested the leader of the Peaky Blinders as though counting sheep. One strike, two strikes, three strikes, four, five. Fia must’ve spent all night indulging in her new hobby, because by the time she’d moved onto hating his stupid ears, the dark around her had turned a pale periwinkle and the noise and smell of the city was long forgotten.

In its place came birdsong. The sweet, earthy smell she could only describe as being overwhelmingly green. The blessed sight of a blue sky peering back at her through gaps in the clouds— real clouds, not the choking smog of the city. It had only been a couple of days, but she had missed it fiercely.

Sam was a bit cross with her when he opened the door to find her crouched in the most uncomfortable (safest, thank you) corner of the vardo. She had every right to be unhappy in turn, as Sam looked about ready to fall asleep standing upright, eyelids drooping and hair mussed from where he’d rested his head on his hand despite knowing full well that Fia had volunteered to take a shift at the reins. But of course, Sam and his self-punitive nature insisted on proving himself the man of the house at every opportunity. As if she cared, really; she’d rather have a meek and unassuming Sam than a dead-in-a-ditch-from-exhaustion Sam. But she couldn’t stay angry for long, not about something like this. Because this place, this haven he’d taken them to just as the sun began to crawl slowly up to the treeline, could just about be the most beautiful place they’d set up camp so far.

This was where they found themselves in the hot days of summer, parked beneath a grove of fragrant trees and within walking distance of a crystalline stream. They’d only been graced by Tommy’s presence but the one time, which should’ve been a blessing. And yet…

“Sam,” she called from where she dangled her legs from the narrow deck of the vardo, darning a sock she’d snagged on a blackberry bush.

He rested in the grass just a few yards away, having made a successful venture into Kenilworth to treat a gentleman’s dressage horse and pick up some food for the next few days. It wasn’t the sort of trip sanctioned by the man hosting them— for their safety, Tommy preferred to send out his staff to gather what they needed —but damn it, she’d been craving biscuits, and Sam had been practically tearing up the cushions for something to do that wasn’t sex or taking the horses for a trot around the acres surrounding the giant mansion in the distance.

When Sam tilted his head back to look at her, she couldn’t help but smile. The lack of stress had done him well; the healthy bronze glow had returned to his skin, and in the late afternoon sunlight his eyes shone like silver. The dark circles had begun to fade from beneath his eyes, his face less gaunt and gaze less hollow. Sam had a new gentleness to him that the war had made scarce. He was beautiful (if it were up to her, they certainly wouldn’t run out of things to do, but Sam was unfortunately limited by human stamina), but most importantly, he was rested. The nightmares had lessened in frequency and potency without the stress of survival and isolation looming over them. Now, their nights were peaceful and quiet more often than not. With the rib fracture largely healed, he could sleep comfortably on his side without tossing and turning.

Fia shook from her reverie when Sam laughed, a cheeky smile broadcasting just how much he preened on Fia’s admiration. “What?” He stretched like ivy sprawling across the ground, long limbs taut before he relaxed with a contented little huff.

“Nothing. Was just thinking,” Fia said, “that we haven’t seen Thomas in a while.”

Sam arched his eyebrows like she’d just offered to diddle the Pope. “Tommy, too? Oh, Fi, you’re insatiable!” He brought his arms up to protect his face, giggling, as Fia lobbed the balled-up sock at him.

“You are so—!” She groaned instead of finishing the sentence, unable to stop a smile from creeping across her face. “Christ, I just wanted to hear updates on Aintree. See if they found anything that could explain who those people are. Would you ask him for me?”

It was Sam’s turn to groan then, head falling back, grass parting with a gentle hiss and crackle. “I’m so comfortable,” he whined. “It’s nice out.”

Well, that was rather inconvenient. For all his eagerness to do anything but lay around, Sam had picked the perfect time to fall victim to a nice warm beam of sunlight. Well, she thought, if you want something done right, you must do it yourself.

“I’ll go then. Help me down,” she said, not waiting for him before she was stretching cautiously to land barefoot in the grass. Sam was up in the blink of an eye, an arm under hers and a hand supporting her belly.

“Not alone, you’re not,” he tutted, indulging his hope that he’ll feel a kick by keeping his hand on her bump for a moment longer. “It’s dangerous.”

Fia leveled him with an unimpressed glare. “It’s just up the hill. It’s a mile away.”

“A mile away and into a stranger’s house,” he added.

“A stranger who you trusted to keep us safe,” she countered, and by the sigh he heaved she knew she’d won. But it wasn’t the only point she needed to make. “You get to roam the property,” she said, smoothing her dress with her palms, “while I sit here and do… well, not much. Gripe to myself about my feet swelling, perhaps? Waddle to the creek? Darn some socks?”

Sam nodded, brows furrowed. He handed her the old pair of riding boots she’d nicked from Danny, not without apprehension and a side of disapproval. “Fine,” he ducked down to offer some stability as she slipped them on, then tied the laces for her. “But take Ypres.”

Fia rolled her eyes. “Yes, dear.”

—

Not but 15 minutes after Fia set off for Arrow House did Thomas Shelby emerge from the treeline astride a well-muscled Friesian. Of course, Sam thought, having a private laugh. Never where we want him to be, is he? He raised a hand in greeting from where he slumped back against the wheel of the Vardo, an old jam jar shining amber with a dram of cheap whiskey in his hand.

Tommy and that stunning horse approached, the gelding unburdened by a saddle and difficult to look away from as he demonstrated that signature high-stepping trot. They crested the low curve of the hillock separating the two thickets of beeches and oaks, stopping just close enough for Sam to leave his too-warm whiskey behind and meet them halfway in the field.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Sam drawled, feeling quite ridiculous trying to borrow John’s words and confident demeanor for… what, a chat in a field?

“Likewise,” Tommy said, adjusting his posture as the horse shifted impatiently. “Everything well out here?”

Sam hummed in the affirmative, taking a good look at the steed now that he was close enough to reach out and pat him. He was sturdy and tall, not cute and stocky like Ypres but something imposing in his bulkiness; the sort of horse belonging to the knights of old. Definitely a Friesian, he thought, daring a good fuss above the nose only to be met with a curious snort and a flexible upper lip attempting to return the favor.

“Who’s this fellow?” He asked, in awe of the inky blackness of the coat. Completely undisturbed by mottling and marking, nearly ravenlike.

“This is Charon,” Tommy said, and there was a sort of delight in his voice that Sam had never heard from him before. “Beautiful, aye?”

“Oh, stunning. Absolutely boss.” The big gelding blinked, lip loose and amicable as Sam moved, unafraid of a bite, onto the velvety softness of his chin.

Tommy arched one brow, a slight hint of a smirk gracing his lips. “Boss?”

“Well… yeah,” he said, the tips of his ears pinking. “Y’know. Like. That’s boss, that’s great, yeah?”

And then Tommy, in such clarity and lack of restraint that it must’ve been some sort of apocalyptic anomaly, laughed.

“That’s strange,” he said. “Boss. Never heard that. Is that something you say up in Liverpool?”

Sam shrugged. He… didn’t like that. Didn’t enjoy the uncomfortable way his stomach swooped and the back of his neck itched as a flush crawled up to his face. Didn’t know how to feel about the fact that it felt bad to hear him laugh, that it felt like he was losing something good. Or gaining something awful.

Sam averted his eyes, returning instead to the comfort zone that was horse talk. “He’s not a wagon horse.”

“No,” Tommy said. “I’ll be training him for it, though. Word is that Friesian crosses are the future for us. Vanners, they’re calling ‘em. Cobs.”

Charon nickered, sniffing at the ground for more delicate shoots of grass to eat. The shudder of his flanks reminded Sam that Tommy’s only grip was the strength of his legs across the horse’s back, with no saddle to be found and reigns dangling limp around Charon’s neck. It was impressive, for a man raised in the city. Sam didn’t think he would have had much opportunity to learn the traditional ways.

“You ride bareback often?” Sam’s hand slid smooth and gentle across the shimmering dark neck of the horse.

“Always preferred it,” Tommy said, looking out across their modest camp. “When you sit without a saddle, you can feel every heartbeat. Every breath. It’s like reading his mind, in a sense.”

Sam had never thought of it that way. Had never thought of it at all, really; this was just the way he was raised. Who would sit and ponder why they always tied their right shoe before the left? Or why they climbed trees barefoot to reach the most flavorful apples? It didn’t need a justification. It simply… was.

“Not without consequence,” Sam replied. “S’pose if you can feel him breathing, he can feel you tense up. Tremble in fear. And I’m sure he can feel your heart beating, too, through the legs.” He nodded in the direction of Tommy’s femoral artery, where the blood rushed with force.

Tommy hummed, eyes lost off somewhere in the distance. “Is that a consequence? Or is it closeness?”

Sam tilted his head knowingly. Men like you and I, men who have been through what we have… we know the answer. And it’s not pretty. “What’s the difference?”

And, like beast and master, Tommy read his mind right back. There is none. There is none.

“Where’s Florence?” Tommy asked, the silence snapping like spider silk stretched thin. His expression molded into that of concern, subtle on him but impossible not to notice when it had been his expression for an entire weekend.

“Out looking for you,” Sam remembered, anxiety prickling up his spine. “She went to the house. You didn’t see her?”

Tommy shook his head, a bit too calm for his liking. He nodded at a spot just beyond the camp, a lush dell where Queenie placidly munched on a tall stalk of meadowsweet. “Did she take a horse?”

“Yes,” Sam replied quickly, knowing where this was going. “We should check the stables.”

“Agreed.”

—

Arrow House was… imposing. Standing at the base of the stairs, Fia needed to crane her neck so far out she almost toppled backwards just to see either end of the building. An almost sickening display of wealth, if it weren’t so pretty. Who could possibly need so many windows? Extravagance and fine detail, she could understand. It wasn’t too different from the bright paints and swirling designs on a vardo. But this much space? He could’ve had the whole family and then some living in this house. That wasn’t to mention the stately mews house, the attached stable, the groundskeeper’s house, the steeple of a distant chapel, the sprawling green lawns…

Fia hurried inside at the sound of wheels crunching on gravel in the distance, instinctually a little nervous being caught so close to a mansion like this. Would she be apprehended? Had she mistaken this house for someone else’s gigantic manor? But she’d been frozen in place in the opulent entryway for longer than she ought’ve, and had hardly taken in a thing. A grand wood staircase led up to some additional floor beyond sight… could she make it that far? She didn’t trust her knees to make it all the way, but perhaps she could hide on the landing somewhere before that grand family portrait. A child, round-faced and looking adoringly at his father. And was that… Thomas Shelby? Well, thank the lord she was in the right place at least. And there on the right, a pretty blonde woman draped in crimson. So this must’ve been—

“Oh!”

Fia startled, head whipping around in preparation to defend herself with… well, nothing really. But there she was: gold waves of hair, swanlike neck adorned with an undoubtedly expensive silver necklace, a hand caught digging in her purse. Grace Burgess.

“Hello!” Grace called out warily, hand still hidden within the bag. “May I help you, miss?”

Fia’s mouth moved soundlessly, cold sweat itching at her hairline. As she turned the rest of her body, protective of her belly, Grace’s eyes softened and her posture changed, shoulders relaxing.

“Ah,” she said, dropping whatever it was that she’d been clutching in her bag. “You’re Esme’s sister, aren’t you?”

On a delay, Fia nodded, slowly and then rapidly as the heart-pounding fear faded. “Yes,” she said. “I- I am.”

Grace smiled, striding forward to greet her. “I’m Grace. And you are…?”

“Florence-Maria,” she stammered, “uh, Lovell. Florence-Maria Lovell.”

“Florence-Maria,” she said, the syllables gliding over an accent that sang Galway in its origin, woven with a variety of places. A fellow traveler, Fia thought, smiling. Not a traveler like me or Sam or Tommy, but a woman who’s seen the world nonetheless. Grace’s brow furrowed in thought. “Lovell… oh! I didn’t realize you two had married.”

“We’re- we didn’t,” she said, flushing red. “I… I don’t know why I said that. We’re not.” She let out a nervous chuckle, tucking her hair behind her ear.

Grace laughed, not unkindly. “Here, it’s too warm outside.” She beckoned her to follow, walking them towards a sitting room with windows facing a little rose garden, drenched in light and warm wood tones. “I’ll have someone bring you water and something to eat. You must be tired.”

Fia shook her head, though she could feel the ache of sitting on a horse creeping up her tailbone and hips. “We’re not far away,” she said. “Just down by the stream around back.”

Grace gave her a knowing look, one brow arched in a manner that reminded her of Tommy. Had Grace picked up the habit first, or had he? “At… how many months, now? Six? Seven? At the very least, come sit.”

Fia obliged, but perched delicately on the silk brocade of the couch she found herself on. It felt wrong to disturb the fabric too much, like sitting on part of a museum exhibit. The more Fia looked, the more the room did remind her of an exhibit: empty, unused, set up neatly and swept of dust to keep tidy. Like a little dollhouse. Did they not receive guests? She knew full well that the Shelby boys were not the type to be separate for long, but she couldn’t find a trace of the room being lived-in by the extended family. The ashtrays sat empty, and the chintz pillows undented.

“The sitting room,” Grace said, observing her with something like scientific curiosity behind the warmth in her stare, “is usually not where we host. Tommy prefers his office, and I’ve been a bit reluctant to host any gatherings myself after having Charlie. But I hope it’s to your liking?”

Wide-eyed, Fia nodded and looked upward at the high coffered ceiling. “It’s… large.”

Grace laughed. “Yes, it’s something Tommy wanted. He seems preoccupied with image, but I know his heart’s in the right place with it. Wants me to be comfortable.” She paired that with an eye roll, as though this was something they’d discussed more than once.

Fia could understand why, though. Growing up on narrowboats and caravans and slim houses-turned-betting shops all his life had turned him into a man who needed space, or space from his family at the very least. Of course, she couldn’t deny that it was a pretty manor, on top of that. A high class wife, a high class house, a high class man. If only he humbled himself now and again and deigned to at least let her know he remembered their existence on the edge of his land.

“By the way,” she said, holding onto that loose thread of a thought, “where is Thomas?”

Grace stood by the window, illuminated blue and pink by the light cast through clouds and rose petals. “Probably out on one of the horses, if I know him. He gets like this; needs to run when his mind is busy.” She shook her head fondly, lips pursed like she was holding back some private insight. “It’ll be a while, is all I can say.”

She nodded again, fingers tangling in her dark locks. The silence stretched between them, a little awkward with the chilliness and sheer size of the room, and only worsened as a maid of all people brought her a glass of water. She held herself tense and tight on the couch, remembering her mother’s very few insistences on etiquette. Don’t sit like that in a skirt. Say “please” and “thank you”. Quit fidgeting. Carry a knife in your boot, just in case. Perhaps not that one. By the time she hid her hands beneath her thighs, remembering to quit picking at your curls or they’ll go limp and frizzy, Grace had cottoned on to her discomfort.

“Well,” she said, clapping her hands together. “I’m sure you’re bored, sitting here and waiting. Why not play chess? Or I can play the piano. Or you can, too,” she added quickly, “whatever you want.”

Fia had never learned to play chess, nor piano for that matter. What use were they in a space where every bit of storage was used up by essentials? And where would she even fit a piano? Admitting to Grace that she never learned either was only slightly less painful than yanking out her own tooth, but Grace’s eyes only lit up in wonder.

“I’d be delighted to show you, if you’d like.” At Fia’s shy smile, she held her by one hand in hers and the other at her back to get her upright again, apologizing when Fia winced at her spine and knees protesting.

“I learned piano from my mother,” she said, leading her past portraits and statues and vases that were likely older than her great grandmother, “as well as singing, hosting… needlepoint,” she said that word with a healthy dose of disgust. Fia giggled, imagining Grace grumbling and cursing through dozens of warped canvases and missed stitches.

“But my father taught me self defense. And chess,” she said, fond and wistful. A hint of sadness there too, or perhaps longing. “It’s all about knowing your enemy, calculating your moves.” She snapped the attention of bright eyes back onto Fia. “And you? What are your hobbies?”

Hobbies! Fia was stumped. Much of what she did was work, really: tending the horses, keeping house, foraging… “I swim, sometimes,” she said, “when it’s hot out.” She thought on it a bit longer, smiling to herself as the memories flickered like a moving picture in her mind. As they settled into another sitting room— not quite as big as the last, but still grand —she recounted her childhood. Her brothers teaching her how to balance on a horse and break a boy’s heart, her sisters teaching her how to hold a baby and how to shoot a pistol. Her mother teaching her math, how to read, how to write. Her father teaching her that it’s okay to cry, and that she should expect respect. Uncle Ephraim sitting her gap-toothed younger self on his knee behind the wheel of that flashy new motorcar and steering in circles as she squealed in delight. “And Esme,” she said, finding herself sitting next to Grace on a piano bench before she knew it, “Esme taught me how to cuss like a sailor. And how to kick a man in the balls.”

Caught off-guard, Grace guffawed, doubling over and resting her forehead briefly on the music rack. It was authentic and undignified enough to surprise Fia, who in turn laughed as she basked in the melting away of awkward politeness.

“My!” Grace caught her breath with one hand resting on the delicate silver chain of her necklace: a locket, heart shaped. “That’s… wow,” a sigh, their cheeks still smarting with the force of wide smiles. “It seems like you had a lovely childhood.”

Fia hummed, pressing one high key down to hear the crystalline ring of the piano. “It was a lot of work,” she said, watching and listening as Grace’s hands danced across a scale: do-re-mi-fa-so-la-ti-do. “But it was beautiful.”

“Tell me more,” said Grace, two hands now perched over the keys. “I’ll play for you.”

—

The sound of laughter and music, confident arpeggios followed by hesitant responding keystrokes, soothed Sam’s worries as quickly as the sight of Ypres’ velvety snout poking out from the split stable door in the distance. To his right, Tommy slowed and disembarked from Charon in one smooth motion, landing light on his feet. He, too, held less tension in his brow than he had on the path. A smile crept up nearly invisible on his face as a voice, accented with Irish inflection, flowed through a drinking song melody he’d heard a handful of times before with a handful of different lyrics.

“S’pose that’s Grace?” Sam wondered aloud, sliding from Queenie’s back and patting the strong base of her neck.

Tommy nodded, gathering the reins of his horse in one hand. “They’ll be alright. It’s…it’ll do good for them, to have this.”

Sam knew it well, the meaning behind those words. Loneliness plagued those who forewent family. Friends. Traveling away was a heartache for him, yes, but for someone as close to her family as Fia, to suddenly be without them was agonizing. He found her praying, sometimes, when she thought she wouldn’t be noticed. An icon of Sara e Kali clutched close to her heart, she would sit on the stoop of the vardo and watch some distant horizon, silently mouthing her hopes. Safety. Comfort. Prosperity. Reunion.

She had no friends to go see. Too long had it been since she saw the Boswells or the Chilcotts to justify seeking them out, and the Maughans had returned to Ireland for good. Nobody would want to be associated with the two of them, either. Not with Mad Henry’s son. Not with his runaway girl, or his bastard child neither.

Tommy Shelby bore such a reputation that would drive even the most ardently open-minded of their community away. A gangster, born of the king of sleaze and a woman driven to untimely death. Even if he had redeemed himself in gadjo society— what with his posh soon-to-be wife and a big, empty manor to make his swindling socially acceptable —he likely had no friends there, either. Just hangers-on and vultures circling a profit. Stuck alone with the two of them all day, loners that the two men were, Grace and Fia were probably sick to death without female company.

“Yeah,” Sam said, wan smile on his lips. “We’d best leave ‘em to their afternoon.”

Tommy hummed in agreement. “Come,” he said, leading Charon towards the mews around the back of the manor. “You can stable your mare here.”

Sam perked up. “You’ve got a racehorse, don’t you? The gray?” Grace’s Secret. Second place at Epsom, in her first ever big name race. From then on, second at two other, smaller qualifiers, and then first at this year’s Newmarket. Her betting price was high. Her farrying fee was higher. Oh, yes, Sam knew about this one.

Tommy pointed her out after Queenie was settled with a bag of hay and fresh, temperate water. The filly’s head bobbed once against the summer flies as though to greet them. The air in the court was sweet with hay and musky in the way only an animal could be. Sam took in a deep lungful, brought back to summers of his childhood spent mucking stalls in the stables of rich men. Dirty work, but noble and much appreciated by the horses. His father would whistle tunes while he went through the muscle memory of farrying, the words of the songs seeped out and long gone through the cracks of a battered skull. When it became difficult for his numbed hands, or if Da had to remember the steps a bit more than was comfortable, Sam would step in and finish the job. A farrier’s son taking up the mantle.

“Just back from the trainer,” Tommy explained as he gave the filly a scratch behind the ears. “She’s a good woman, May Carleton. You’ve probably heard of her.”

Sam nodded. At least, he certainly heard of her late husband; in Ypres, the cavalier’s horse had fallen to a throat shot mid-rear and crushed the man’s spine. Sam hadn’t watched him die, but he heard about it from the American horsemen. Brutal, that. At night in the trenches, sometimes men would swear they heard the squeal of a horse laid dying in the mud. “I might’ve,” he said instead, avoiding eye contact with the gray horse nuzzling at Tommy’s hand.

Conversation bled into easy small talk of horse-related matters, as it often did— what’s her pedigree? Do the Lovells work at racetracks often? How do you pick your horses, Thomas? I look into their eyes, Samuel —but Sam’s concentration trailed off at the excited snort and stomping across the court. The braying neigh that accompanied after was like a royal bugle, clear and bright with robust confidence. Sam was stopped in his tracks.

“That,” Tommy said with no small amount of pride, “is my newest acquisition.”

Sam was drawn across the cobbled court to the opposite stall, compelled by a flash of copper in the sun. So red he appeared painted with blood, the chestnut Thoroughbred with his close-roached mane pawed and stomped at the ground. Sam dared to stand within close enough distance to feel the humidity of his huffed breaths, the scent of warm horse hair thick in the air.

He let out a soft wow, staring down a long face like the barrel of a shotgun. “What’s his name?”

“Doesn’t have one,” Tommy said, dragging a cigarette across his lower lip. He let it hang there from his lips unlit, the white paper bobbing distractingly as he spoke. “We’ve been calling him Chance, but we can’t register him under just that. It’s already taken.”

Sam hummed, he and the horse’s gazes locked. Chance. He thought about what it felt like for Tommy to point that gun at him, safety off and finger on the trigger. One hell of a game of chance, that. Sam wasn’t sure whether he would live or die in that moment, but the calm that washed over his body told him one thing: whatever happens, you can’t stop it. If Tommy wanted him dead, he would die. If Tommy thought he was a traitor, he was a traitor. And if Tommy offered him a different kind of chance— the chance to run away, to seek safety, to prove the papers wrong —then he would take it. His life, his odds in the hands of a one-time nobody from Birmingham.

“Birmingham Chance,” Sam said, quiet like a churchgoer. “Name him Birmingham Chance.”

Tommy seemed pleased with that answer. “Birmingham Chance, then.”

They stood there in companionable silence, just watching the horse scent the air and shiver at the withers with the bothersome buzz of a fly. Tommy reached in to swat the damned thing, laughing when a responding skyward flick of Birmingham Chance’s head knocked Sam’s nose.

“Christ!” Sam jolted, rubbing the bumped bridge of his nose, only recently fully healed. “You could sign him up to be a boxer. Make more money than racing.”

Tommy laughed, offering him an apologetic pat on the back. “I’ve been hoping to stud him, actually,” he said. “He and Grace’s Secret would create champions, I’m sure.”

Stud him? Oh, hell. A look beyond the stall confirmed what Sam had dreaded.

“I didn’t realize he was a stallion,” he stammered, taking a few steps back. Birmingham Chance’s nostrils flared, and he rumbled a whinny from low in the barrel of his chest.

“You don’t trust stallions?”

Look out! Thrown from a height, column of bone cracking underhoof, eyes bulged and bloodshot, blood seeping into dirt, twitching gurgling groan. Oh, god! Oh, god! Don’t look, mon petit!

“I’m not the biggest fan,” he chuckled nervously.

One swift kick and thud goes Da, now. Face twisted to ugliness in rictus, arms curled up and in, fingers harsh and clawed. Piteous whine, then silence. Maman screaming, falling to her knees. Racing heart, nausea. Mud, blood, horsehair.

“It’s alright,” Tommy said, snapping him from the pain of the past. “He’s just piqued from all the ladies around. Can probably smell your mare. He’s very gentle, see?”

Sam felt his stomach sink when Tommy stepped forward, well into the stallion’s space, and put his palm to the blaze on the horse’s forehead. Instead of biting, or rearing or kicking or leaping to— instead of anything, Birmingham Chance nickered and pressed closer, blinking slow and docile. Sam sighed, relief washing over him, and leaned against the wall by the stable door to watch Tommy in his element.

If Sam were any good at it, he’d paint this scene: Tommy taming the red stallion, the long dark lashes on both haloed by white afternoon sunlight. His hand outstretched, callused workman’s fingertips catching on the wiry hairs of the horse’s carmine pelt. Shoulders confident, held deceptively tall and strong for how slight he was without the thick squareness of the overcoat. Dressed down from his typical three-piece, just the crisp white shirt unbuttoned from his pale throat and a quicksilver waistcoat hugging his form. Hair ungelled, as raven dark as his Friesian, shining iridescent with those hidden warm undertones. Eyes so blue they glowed near white in the backlit scene— a chiaroscuro. Something priceless and framed on the wall of a cathedral, he imagined. Saint Eligius, perhaps, of gold and horses and smoke sighing from the furnace. Those eyes turning towards him, fondness and warmth and, and…oh. Oh no.

No, no, no.

“When I saw him,” Tommy murmured, low and reverent, “I didn’t think about his pedigree. Didn’t think of his history or his temperament.” He turned back to the horse, another hand cupping the roundness of his cheek. “All I thought was just… this. This is the one. I need to have this one.”

Sam’s mouth was dry, heart beating hummingbird fast.

Those eyes again, cast upon him. “It’s greedy,” he said, but with no sharpness. No guilt. “Selfish. But can you blame me? He’s beautiful.”

Sam swallowed. He had no interest in looking at this wine-red horse. “Yeah,” he said, focused wholly on the curve of light now casting a holy glow on Tommy’s high cheekbone. “He’s stunning.”

—

It became a routine over the course of the next weeks; on dry and warm days, Tommy might take a pair of horses on a hack down near the creek, where Sam would join him the rest of the way. It was pleasant, easy conversation between the two of them. Sam, restless, was more than happy to have something to do and often offered to come muck the stables or give the horses a baseline health check after. He was fascinated by the large swaths of nature out behind Arrow House— and here Tommy was assuming the man would’ve had enough of the trees and trails with all the time he’s spent on the road! Tommy couldn’t help but indulge his requests.

“Where does that path lead?” Sam might ask one day, and the two of them would set out farther and farther from the property. More and more time on the horses. “What river is that?” “Which street?” “How far are we from the market?”

He was always curious. And without the fear of death on his mind, Tommy came to realize Sam was a cheeky fucker, as well. He’d let Sam and Queenie (or Chiron, or Mullo, or Foxhunt, or Captain, or whichever horse Tommy brought for Sam to meet) trot on ahead, only to be left in the dust when Sam clicked his tongue for a sudden gallop. Now and again, Tommy would give chase, but he was just as happy to watch Sam work off that impulse to run. Strange, he thought, that a man as subdued as Sam could be so self-assured on horseback.

Like a boy with a fistful of dirty wildflowers for his schoolyard sweetheart, he’d return bashful and red-faced. “Sorry,” he’d stammer. “Dunno what came over me.” And yet, sure as the sun rose in the sky, he did it again every time.

Another new regularity was Florence’s presence in the house. Bored to death alone and with a new enthusiasm for chess and literature, she and Grace would often sit in the drawing room and “gossip” beneath the melody of Grace teaching her to play the piano— if Tommy knew his Grace, it was more likely that they were plotting something. And that something came as very little surprise in mid-August, when the sun was broiling hot and the meadow grass turned whispery and dry.

“Do you think we ought to invite Sam and Florence to stay in the house?” Grace asked innocently one morning, fingers splayed across her hair as she gently combed and gelled the golden locks into soft finger waves before the vanity.

Tommy, tie undone and hanging around his neck, shrugged in the bathroom mirror. “They haven’t asked,” he mumbled around a toothbrush. “They’re fine. They’ve always traveled.”

Grace hummed, a short little tone that indicated she thought otherwise. “Perhaps they need a little reassurance that they’re welcome to stay awhile?”

Her kind way of saying they wouldn’t ask you, necessarily.

The corner of Tommy’s lip twitched in a near-smile. Grace had a talent for diplomacy in a roundabout way that his own blunt approach could never accomplish. “Why, you think they’re afraid to ask?”

“No.” Yes. “I just think Sam might think it impolite to impose himself. He doesn’t ask us for much, you may have noticed.” Satisfied with her work, Grace rose from the vanity and untied the sash of her dressing gown.

Tommy knew full well that Sam was a grown man who could make his own decisions, but Grace seemed to stay under the impression that his big, sad eyes (emphatically her words, not his) warranted a bit of emotional coddling. He also knew that inviting Sam in, a fugitive of the law and presumed political assassin, would bring a whole host of troubles. It was one thing for a traveler to set up camp on his property— Lord knew he had provided safe harbor to Johnny Dogs escaping a spurned woman more than once —but it was another for the most detested face in Liverpool to have free reign of the guest wing, innocent or not. One thing to ride around the property and be friendly through the warm afternoon, another thing entirely to share a roof. People might recognize him. Neighbors might talk.

“Florence slipped in the creek yesterday,” Grace continued, buttoning a blouse as Tommy buttoned his own starched shirt. “Thankfully not all the way down, but just imagine if she had.” The very image of subtlety, she was. An arched brow and a pointed look followed. “She’s almost due.”

“She is,” he agreed. And here it came: the negotiation.

“She’ll need a midwife,” Grace added, a deep green skirt swishing around her knees as she pulled on the sensible pair of shoes she always chose when she knew she was going to be chasing after a Shelby’s short attention span. That’s right, he thought, cursing himself for forgetting. Esme and John are taking the kids to look at country houses today. That’s why we’re talking about this now.

“Perhaps.” A swift motion and his tie was secured. Waistcoat next, shrugged on over the shoulders and fastened.

“This would be her first,” Grace remarked, as though it were an afterthought. “And she’s so tiny, and Sam… well, he is quite tall.” A cloud of palmarosa and geranium announced her finishing touch: exactly two sprays of Floris eau de parfum.

“Hm.”

“It’ll be a hell of a labor.”

“Mhm.”

“All alone, just them out in the woods…”

“Grace,” he warned.

“And,” here it came, the pièce de résistance, “I’m sure Esme would be so glad to know her sister is among friends.”

“Alright,” he huffed, tugging perhaps a bit too harshly at the cuff of his sleeve. “I’ll offer the idea up.”

Grace’s smile was so sweet that it made the idea of an imminent police raid and conspiracy charge worth it. She kissed his cheek, laughing as he grumbled despite the pink flush overtaking his face. Grace hummed as she fiddled with his hair, nothing more than an excuse to stand close to him and just exist for a while.

A squeal echoing from downstairs heralded Esme’s arrival, and off went Grace like a bullet from a gun. “I need to grab Charlie if he’s to see his cousins,” she said, dashing from the room.

In the foyer, Esme and Florence rocked back and forth in as tight a hug as the younger could comfortably manage, giggling like girls as Sam and John exchanged awkward greetings. The kids— and there were many of them, bless ‘em —darted this way and that, tugging Esme’s skirt to ask a question and holding fast to John’s leg and chasing one another perilously close to several breakables. Tommy’s eye twitched.

“Tom!” John called to him, right arm spread wide like a victorious gladiator rather than a man with flecks of a baby’s spit-up staining one shirt sleeve and the baby in question teething on the other. “Brother!”

They exchanged a hearty back pat and pleasantries, relieved to be separate from the fray for just a moment while Esme and Florence gradually disentangled from one another.

“Hey,” John leaned in conspiratorially, patting a shockingly red-headed little Flora on the bum as she babbled in his ear, “you hear about Arthur’s new girl?”

Tommy thought for a moment, rifling through a roster of women that Arthur had brought home and claimed would be The One before settling on the most recent. “The Quaker girl? The one working at the soup kitchen?”

“Yeah,” John nodded enthusiastically. “I think they’re serious, mate.”

This had been a point of contention between him and Arthur for some months now. Newly inspired (by the snow, no doubt) to forge a path to the pearly gates, he’d begun offering a clumsy hand to just about any Christian volunteer program he could find. This pursuit led him right to one Linda Woodard, a sheltered sort of teetotaler girl with her heart in the right place and her hopes higher than what Arthur could likely deliver. She’d been weaning him from the snow, the drink, the smoking, the fighting… and the life. Tommy couldn’t begrudge the concept harshly because he himself had taken a step back from the dirty business to focus on Grace and Charlie, but Arthur was different. Arthur needed things to do, or he’d tear up the couch cushions. There was no taming him, not for good, and the sooner he and his newest obsession realized it, the better.

“Well, I’m happy for him,” Tommy said dispassionately. “It’ll do him good to keep her as long as he can.” Which won’t be long went unsaid, but John snickered anyway. He pulled a filterless Sweet Afton cigarette from his waistcoat and ran the end of it over his lower lip, before slowly sliding it back into his pocket at Flora’s disapproving little nose wrinkle. Just like her mother, that one. God help them all.

“She’ll be at the wedding, no doubt,” John said. “Just warning you ahead of time, yeah?”

Tommy sighed. Great. Plenty for a pious woman such as her to comment upon at his wedding. “I appreciate it, John.”

Then again… he looked at Sam, crouched low and nodding along to little Daniel’s babbled nonsense story, eyes wide and attentive. Sam was very religious, wasn’t he? And he’d had no problem with his and Grace’s son. Minimal issue with this life, too, so long as he would profit without blood on his hands. He was an unmarried soon-to-be father himself, with no anxiety looming about hurrying along that particular milestone before the baby’s birth. Perhaps rediscovering religion could work out for Arthur. Or, more likely, it would go up in flames. But it could work.

“Charlie, look who’s here!” Grace stood on the staircase behind him, bouncing their boy in her arm as sleepy eyes threatened to close again. He snuggled into Grace’s shoulder, rubbing his face with one pudgy balled-up fist. “Look there, there’s Uncle John.”

On cue, John took the stairs two at a time to plant an exaggerated kiss on Charlie’s cheek. “What’s going on, eh? Are you sleepy?” John tickled him under the chin, drawing out a squeal of delight. “Sleepy, squeaky little piglet, eh? You wanna come down and say hello?”

Unsurprisingly, Charlie beamed. He was always far more social than Tommy, rivaling Grace for charisma and absolutely stealing the show on those rare occasions where they had guests. And of course, with so many people to charm, Charlie got right to work. Like a little politician, he grabbed Katie’s finger and let her shake his hand with a how-do-you-do and a giggle at his gummy smile. When John Jr. wanted to hold him, he sat patiently in the awkward grip for an astonishing 10 seconds before stretching his arms back up to Grace. Of course, he adored Esme and Florence. More specifically their curls, which he delighted in grabbing.

“Alright,” Grace chuckled apologetically as she helped Esme unravel a coil of Florence’s hair from those little fists, “maybe that’s enough of that, mister.”

“Oi,” Sam called out in mock offense. “We forgetting someone, little man?”

Sam and Charlie had struck up an odd sort of friendship in the last few times they’d seen each other. It was another little routine that had cropped up with Sam and Florence’s arrival: whenever Sam’s presence in the stables happened to coincide with Charlie’s, they would debate. Charlie would babble nonsense, Sam would rebut this with his own string of disconnected syllables, and Charlie would frown at him for a while before moving onto a new topic. This typically involved him pointing at a stall and saying something that sounded like the first step towards “horse”— his favorite word to try and imitate besides “Mama” and “no”, it seemed.

Grace flashed a radiant smile, having seen their philosophical discussions more than once. “Charlie, do you want to say hello to Uncle Samuel?”

“Gah!” He stretched his arms high in the air, feet kicking out like a little frog in the water.

Sam laughed, taking the baby from his mother’s arms with an exaggerated roar. “And what’re they feeding you, eh, pal? You weigh a right ton, you do.”

The little boy squealed as Sam hiked him up on his hip, dipping him low until his fine blond hair hung upside down. Florence looked on so fondly Tommy feared her heart might explode if the man continued on the way he did. He found he couldn’t blame her in the least, which was… a strange feeling, to say the least. One he didn’t have time to analyze before Charlie was reaching for him, babbling a stream of da-da-da-da-dah’s.

By the time John, Esme, and their gaggle were ready to leave the house in a veritable Shelby family parade, the noon sun was already high in the sky. Grace and Florence took Charlie outside to pet Ypres, and Sam sat on the stoop at the entryway of the house, long legs sprawled out before him. Next to Tommy’s sharp three-piece suits, Sam would look out of place, but it was clear that this— the countryside, the sunlight, the open space —was his element, and Tommy was the interloper. That made him remember Grace’s earlier point, one which she made sure to remind him of with another pointed look before the two women went off to the mews.

“So,” Tommy started, feeling a bit clumsy.

Sam looked at him strangely, drawing one knee up to rest his arm on it. “So?”

Tommy opened his mouth, and then stopped, sighing. Why was this difficult? They were friends, after all. Friends who saw each other every few days, practically sharing the stables at this point. What was one more building?

“I wanted to ask,” he cleared his throat, then dug through his pocket for a cigarette, “whether you two had decided to stay for the winter.” Tommy frowned when he couldn’t find his lighter, eyes snapping to Sam when he heard a click.

“You dropped this,” Sam explained, holding the engraved lighter aloft and already blazing with a flickering orange flame.

Tommy muttered his thanks, sitting on the stairs next to Sam to light that cigarette. The motion brought them closer than Tommy thought, only a few inches separating their shoulders. Tommy didn’t move away. Neither, strangely, did the ever-flighty Sam.

“Didn’t really think about it,” Sam remarked. “Guess we just figured… well, I dunno,” he chuckled nervously, running a hand through inky black locks of hair. It was just a bit overgrown now, curling around the shell of his ear and brushing the base of his neck. Tommy would never have noticed if it weren’t for the way that Sam often ran his fingers through it in the summer heat, fingers brushing sweat-dampened locks away from his forehead in the stables or off the back of his overheated neck along the wooded trail. “I don’t wanna impose,” Sam said, an echo of Grace’s words.

“You should,” Tommy said quickly.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “I should… impose?”

“No,” Tommy corrected, clearing his throat. Where the hell was this coming from? He was the collected one, not Sam. Sam was awkward and unpracticed at conversation, not him. “No, I mean… you should stay. For the winter.”

“Oh,” Sam chuckled, mussing his hair again, fingers now running from back to front. “I- I appreciate that, yeah. That would be… I’ll talk to her. Fia. Florence, I mean. But she’d agree, I’m sure.” Sam’s ears were flushed a deep red, and he avoided looking at Tommy head-on.

Well, at least that was somewhat better than the unnerving conversational advantage Sam had on him before. Tommy cleared his throat again, taking a long drag of his cigarette. “Glad that’s settled,” he said, letting the wind carry the little ball of ash away from the lit end of his Sweet Afton.

“Right.” Sam chewed his lower lip. A bit of a distracting habit, Tommy had noticed, but whether it was the odd glimpse of a missing premolar or the way he occasionally split the skin to pinpricks of blood that made it so was beyond him.

Tommy slapped his own knees with both clammy hands (what the fuck was that even for?) and stood, ashing his cigarette in the dirt with the toe of his shoe. “Well, I can ask John and Arthur to come by next week to help you move any heavier things, but I can have Frances get the guest wing made up as soon as tomorrow if you’d like to come in earlier.”

Sam blinked at him, croaking a few half-formed words before landing on “wait, you mean now?”

Tommy shrugged. “Better now than after the baby, trust me. If Florence is keen on the idea, I’ll have it done.”

Sam processed for a few moments, face contorting into several layers of confusion and surprise before he broke into a laugh. “I mean… yeah,” he said. “Sure, mate. Yeah. Don’t see why not.” He stood, dusting his hands on his pants before meeting Tommy in a firm handshake.

“It’s a plan, then,” Tommy said, feeling his heart rate pick up at the impulsiveness of it all. It reminded him of his early childhood summers with the Boswell side of the family, Grandmother deciding seemingly on a lark to follow after various family friends of hers: Mincéirs and Roma, Strongs and Chapmans, English Romanichal and Welsh Kale alike. Today, it was his turn to shack up with Lovells and Lees. Fuck what their posh neighbors might say.

“Yeah.” Sam’s wide grin only encouraged him more. “It’s a plan.”

[madebysimblr]

Text Messages to: Al

José: Out for the whole night? How'd u swing that w/ the monster? Al: Asked my dad in front of her. Said I was staying over at em's. José: NICE! Real plan? Al: Real plan is to stay at em's. Al: But not get there until late 🤣 José: 🤣🤣 José: See u here soon? Al: Ye i'm gonna change there. José: Sweet!

José: Hey! I'm almost ready I think. You brought a lipstick for me right?

Allison: Yup, grabbed a few colors.

José: Thanks. You can change in the spare room!

-

José: …. Hey Al?

Allison: What's up?

José: How did you know you were trans?

Allison: [shrugs] Just knew.

José: You didn't have some big realization?

Allison: No, why?

José: Because I think I just had one.

Allison: Oh! Really?

José: Yeah. Really.

….

José: It's a bummer we can't just body swap, huh?

Allison: [laughs] Tell me about it.

[idv-news-boi]

-> IDV OCs and Canons’ Birthdays

January

{ @/the-oletus-parlor } Yami Kazuichi// January 1st

{ @/idv-sinful-deities } Tae Collins// January 3rd

{ @/askidvcerealist } Samuel// January 5th

{ @/asktheforensicpathologistidv } Louise Harris// January 18th

{ @/idv-ask-optometrist } Rue Leogan// January 27th

{ @/avatar-idv } Brendan// January 28th

February

{ @/idv-sinful-deities } K. Sewford// February 2nd

{ @/idv-artists-trio } Sonny Latte // February 11th (National Latte Day ☕) *

{ @/idv-intellectuals } Edward Blackwell// February 11th (National Inventor’s Day ⚙️) *

Andrew Kress// February 13th

{ @/experimental-blueprints} Bianca HighTower// February 14th

{ @/voidproject } Rue// February 28th

March

{ @/idv-intellectuals } Axel Fontaine// March 6th (National Dentist’s Day 🦷)

{ @/idv-sinful-deities} Damien Hardwick// March 7th

{ @/idv-sinful-deities} “Ellis”//March 11th

White Day - March 14th

{ @/idv-artists-trio } Rosalyn Darling// March 21st (World Puppetry Day 🌸)

{ @/manor-tea-time } Sally Day// March 25th

April

{ @/ask-the-idv-jazz-singer } Harriet Mayweather// April 2nd *

{ @/ask-idv-shepherd } Pearce Whittaker// April 2nd *

{ @/hypnotic-melody} Basil// April 14th (National Gardening Day 🪴)

{ @/hypnotic-melody } Allison Hailey //April 22nd (National Baseball Day ⚾️ )

{ @/voidproject } Phil// April 23rd *

Edgar Valden// April 23rd *

{ @/ask-idv-gas-specialist } Ameillia Thomson// April 29th

May

{ @/idv-ask-governess } Ellen Wilson// May 1st

{ @/voidproject } Exe Day// May 2nd

Aesop Carl// May 11th

{ @/idv-ask-the-showman } Flynn Smith// May 30th

{ @/ask-archer-idv } Archer & Wendigo// May 31st

June

Mike Morton// June 1st

{ @/idv-artists-trio } Angel Drew// June 2nd (National Tailors Day 🪡)

{ @/tatya-time } Tatiana Baudelair// June 7th

{ @/idv-intellectuals } Mira Morgan// June 8th (World Ocean Day 🌊)

{ @/manor-tea-time } Wayne Louis Strickland// June 13th

{ @/idv-ask-the-showman } Phineas Smith// June 14th

{ @/idv-sinful-deities} Cole Straub// June 19th

{ @/idv-artists-trio } Eiji Narukami// June 22nd (Dragon Boat Festival🏮)

{ @/idv-asktheconsigliere } Melissa Fair - June 30th

July

{ @/ask-wraithandmedium } Winifred Abbott// July 1st

{ @/idv-artists-trio } Kitty Nutella// July 7th (World Chocolate Day🍫)

Luca Balsa// July 10th

{ @/ask-idv-thrillseeker} Cleo Day// July 15th

{ @/the-oletus-parlor} Mari Day// July 16th

August

{ @/ask-wraithandmedium } Cecil Delestre// August 4th

{ @/idv-intellectuals } Peterson ‘August’ Drew// August 12th

{ @/ask-idv-outcast } Carmilla Blackwood// August 13th

{ @/manor-tea-time } Shadowed Man Day// August 19th

{ @/idv-sinful-deities} Amanda MacGurk// August 30th

September

{ @/manor-tea-time } Ivy Madison Nettle// September 5th

{ @/manor-tea-time } LeRoy Fredrick Smith// September 12th

{ @/the-oletus-parlor } Ellie Day// September 20th

{ @/the-oletus-parlor } Amy Kazuichi// September 23rd

{ @/hypnotic-melody } Heath// September 25th (National Cooking Day 🍳)

October

{ @/idv-artists-trio } Darcy Daytona// October 14th (Graffiti Apreciation Day 🎨)

{ @/hypnotic-melody } Sam Day// October 20th (National Writing Day ✏️)

{ @/idv-sinful-deities} Jamel Shervet// October 25th

November

{ @/snow-capped-graphics } Chiaki// November 6th

{ @/ask-idv-baker } Beth Anastazja// November 8th

{ @/ask-idv-philosopher } Theodore Cromwell// November 16th

{ @/snow-capped-graphics } Blake// November 30th

December

{ @/hypnotic-melody } Jamie// December 2nd (National Basketball Day 🏀) *

{ @/hypnotic-melody} Basil Day// December 2nd *

{ @/hypnotic-melody } Mari// December 4th (National Ice Skating Day ⛸️)

{ @/manor-tea-time } Eleanor Day// December 15th

{ @/askthepianist } Angeline Bianchi// December 16th

{ @/the-oletus-parlor } Zachary// December 25th *

Victor Grantz// December 25th *

{ @/traditional-dancer-idv } Beatriz Fernández// December 29th

{ @/askidv-thesurgeon} James// December 31st

———

* with color = event buddies!!!

// Laurence’s Birthday? His birthday is everyday :) *dances* Real spawn day? that will be remained as confidential for now- Kinda goes the same for Akihiko- sowwy (nwn

[coffee-n-bagels-comic-universe]

Brainwaves Bios: Doctor May Keaton (1984)

The Heart of C.U.P.S Doctor May Keaton, PhD

The heart of the Columbia University Paranormal Society (or C.U.P.S), Keaton is a Folkloristics, Genetics and Hepatology professor, she's one of the founding four professors, fully wanting to believe in any form of life after death. She's both the heart and imagination of the group.

"It's okay to wonder what happens next. Dismissed, everyone."

Name

Full Legal Name: May Olive Keaton

First Name: May

Meaning: Derived from the name of the month May, which derives from 'Maia', the name of a Roman goddess.

Pronunciation: MAY

Origin: English

Middle Name: Olive

Meaning: From the English and French word for the type of tree, ultimately derived from Latin 'Oliva'

Pronunciation: AHL-iv

Origin: English, French

Surname: Keaton

Meaning: From any of three English place names: Ketton in Rutland, Ketton in Durham or Keaton in Devon.

Pronunciation: KEE-ton

Origin: English

Titles: Doctor, Professor, Miss

Nicknames: Livi, Keaty

Characteristics

Age: 33

Gender: Female. She/Her Pronouns

Race: Human

Nationality: American Citizen. Born in America

Ethnicity: African-American

Birth Date: May 1st 1951

Sexuality: Straight

Religion: Christian

Native Language: English

Known Languages: English, Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Russian, Hebrew, Arabic, Latvian, Lithuanian, Hungarian, German, Norwegian, Greek, Spanish, French

Relationship Status: Single

Astrological Sign: Taurus

Actor: Tracy Chapman

Geographical Characteristics

Birthplace: Auburn, DeKalb County, Indiana

Current Residence: Central Park West, New York, New York

Appearance

Height: 5'4" / 162 cm

Weight: 145 lbs / 65 kg

Eye Colour: Brown

Hair Colour: Black

Hair Dye: None

Body Hair: N/A

Facial Hair: N/A

Tattoos: (As of Jan 1984) None

Piercings: Ear Lobes (Both)

Scars: None

Health and Fitness

Allergies: None

Alcoholic, Smoker, Drug User: Social Drinker

Illnesses/Disorders: None Diagnosed (Possibly Autistic or ADHD/ADD)

Medications: None

Any Specific Diet: None

Relationships

Affiliated Groups: Columbia University (Staff Member), Columbia University Paranormal Society (Founding Member)

Friends: Heather Nieto-Jorge, Allison Wada, Nova Teufel, Janine Melnitz, Mars Teufel

Significant Other: None

Previous Partners: None of Note

Parents: Dutch Keaton (67, Father), Coral Keaton (65, Mother, Née Layton)

Parents-In-Law: None

Siblings: Faith Lyndon (44, Sister, Née Keaton), Grant Keaton (38, Brother), Jett Keaton (27, Brother), Laurel Keaton (21, Sister)

Siblings-In-Law: Reed Lyndon (46, Faith's Husband), Savannah Keaton (40, Grant's Wife, Née Moss)

Nieces & Nephews: Thane Lyndon (16, Nephew), Unity Lyndon (14, Niece), Vernon Lyndon (12, Nephew), Willow Lyndon (10, Niece), Axel Lyndon (8, Nephew), Burgundy Lyndon (6, Niece), Cannon Lyndon (4, Nephew), Dove Lyndon (2, Niece), Drake Keaton (6, Nephew), Ember Keaton (3, Niece)

Children: None

Extras

Level of Education: Folkloristics PhD, Genetics PhD, Hepatology PhD

Occupation: Scientist & Professor of Folkloristics, Genetics & Hepatology (Folkloristics: The study of folklore. Genetics: The study of genes, genetic variation, and heredity in organisms. Hepatology: The study, prevention, diagnosis, and management of diseases that effect the liver, gallbladder, pancreas, and biliary tree.)

Employer: Columbia University

Expertise:

Folklore Expert

Genetic Scientist

Hepatologist

Imaginative

Optimistic

Polyglot

Expert Historian

Architectural Knowledge

Deceptively Sweet

Faults:

Easily Amused

Easily Distracted

Fear of Heights

Fear of Snakes

Has a 'Freeze' fear response

Often Late

Goes easy on students far too often

Backstory: Doctor / Professor / Miss May Olive Keaton was born in Auburn, Indiana to a heart surgeon father and midwife mother, in the year 1951. She moved to New York to live with her older sister, Faith, at the age of sixteen, finishing up her high-school education before going on to study at Columbia University. May et Janine Melnitz in 1971, both attending Columbia university. May became a professor after finishing her Hepatology studies, still continuing her other studies at Columbia while working thee

[thequimmqueen]

🍕Updated Next-gen Character Name List🍕

Timm+Quinn:

Lynn💘

Liamm🎵

Duke gotcha+Shannon:

Raymond📰

Sarah🔎

Joy+Moe:

Jamie🐦

Maya💮

Roy+Olivia:

Rolland📋

Hollie🍍

Hank+Kayla:

Dannah🚨

Safiyah💅

Cameo+Cherissa:

Sandy🍉 (previously known as Cairo)

Cori+Robby:

Russell🎣

Coralina🎏

Ember+Hacky Zack:

Burnett🚒

Axel👔

Zack🚧

Vesta✳️ (previously known as Ambar)

~~~

Romanos🇮🇹:

Guy Mortadello+Bruna Romano:

Marianna🚔 

Gavin🍷

Clover+Carlo Romano+Koilee:

Kōi🐠

Lotta🍜

Bento🎸

Ginevra🥁

Gino Romano+Okalani:

Georgina🍳 

Kalea👑

~~~

Mindy+Whiff:

Rebecco💄(also known as Becky)

Iggy+Sasha:

Haley🔬

Taylor+Peggy:

Stella📷

Marty+Rita:

Matilda🏈

Arthur📽️

Brody+Skyler:

Brandon📚

Abel🎨

Cielo🖌️

Emmlette+Kingsley:

Anastasia🎬

Kellen📹

Sarge fan+Radlynn:

Randall🍠

Sweety🎮

Radha🌟 (Adopted,Failed Offspring Harvest Experiment of Radley Madish)

Alberto+Penny:

Pilar🏵️

Benny🎤

Houton⚽️

Noemi🌼

Scarlett+Rudy:

Adonis♦️ 

Kore♥️

Cooper+Prudence:

Carrie🐈

Brooklynn🐕

Greg+Yippy:

Courtney🌻

Lily🐞

Johnny+Boomer:

Bloom🍀

Arán🌰

Autumn🍁

Chuck+Nevada:

Helena💐

Fawn💍

Snow❄️

Utah+Gremmie:

Caspian🐚

Genaya🌠

Hugo+Janana:

Tanner🎼

Maggie+Mitch:

Magnolia💼

Gunther🌮

Mousse+Sienna:

Gelatta🍦

Syrup🍮

Julep+Deano:

Tulip🌷

Leandro💉

Willow+James:

Jhonnen🛵

Whitney👻

Jenni🔧

Kenji+Zoe:

Eijirou👾

Amanda🦋

Scooter+Austin:

Roopert🌟

Audrey🛍️ (changed from Adrianna)

Connor×Wylan B:

Iza-B🎋 (adopted)

Deckard 🎧 (adopted)

Cassidy🥇(adopted)

Whippa+Georgito

Créme🍬

Graham📋

Drakson+Kasey O:

Kate🥋

Diego💌

Pinch+Bertha:

Paula⚾️

Abraham🏋️

"Ace"⭐ (real name is Jack, changed from "Jack Derby" due to the nickname not making sense)

Rico+Rhonda:

Roberto🏺

Jazz🏆

Xolo+Sprinks the Clown:

Xefferson🤹

Xandra+Rollie:

Xanna💥

Romeo⚗️

Professor Fitz+Edna:

🍀Jerry & Betsy☘️ (Clones)

LePete+Tohru:

Petra☀️

Koko🥊 (previously known as Kumako)

Ryu🎐

Haru🕹️

Cletus🐰

Pablo🪴

Pally+Trishna🍊:

Nina🍊 (adopted)

Nick🛶

Michael💙

Wendy:

Wendyl🔩

Índigo+NuMarcus:

Magenta👗

NuMabel

Cecilia:

Josefina🎒 (surrogate kid)

Allan+Akari:

Allison💰 (In custody of Allan)

Kuro🍋 (In custody of Akari)

Allan+Ivy

Eva🛩️ (child from second marriage)

JoJo+Louie:

Johann✒️

Lauren🥘

Mayor Mallow:

Molly💎

Crystal:

Shard🃏

Fila-sophie📚

Luau Lepunch+Betty Pecan:

Toasty Coconut🍨 (Scoopian+LePunch Hybrid,Looks More like Betty)

Gala Donut🍩 (adopted Scoopian Child)

Shelly Coir🌴 (Scoopian+LePunch Hybrid, looks more like Luau)

4th of July Scoopian:

Stardust🎆

Rocky Road:

Terrance Milch🍡

Jill Berry+Chip Mcmint:

Cranberry Jelly💝

Bianco Ciocco🍫

Sue x Mary:

Susan☎️ (adopted)

Sarge×Radley Madish:

Onnelious & Brown (Adopted/Used to be Two of Sarge's youngest soldiers)

💜Pines and Payne💙 (Mutated+Adopted Pinacoolada Twins)

Annana💛(Mutated+Adopted Bananapants Daughter)

Radetta💗(Sucessful Offspring Harvest Experiment)

Mr. Sherbet

Tiger Dail🐯

Tomatoe Lady:🍅

Campari🥫

Foodini:

Gabriel🎩

Ripley+Chase

Rodrigo🤓

Stephen🐍

Sprout:

Horia🥕

Skip+Daniela:

Railey🛎️

Kahuna+Makaila:

Koa🏄‍♂️

Big Pauly:

🧂Salt & Pepper🧂

Gabitha:

Tessa🐔

Bonnie & Yalanda:

Klaus💤 (Adopted grandson/apprentice)

Liezel+Kaleb

Scoops🍦

Hector🐻

Treble+Perri:

Damon⚙️

Geezer📻

Budwin+Lisa

Bucky💭

Zandro👾

Boopsy

Barnum 🪆 (Son)

~~~~~~~~~

Possible new Nextgens:

Simone:

Shira🎥

Didar:

Noah🎙

Yuko:

Ichika

Chester

Gordon ⛺

Petrona

Roman

~~~~

Roger GearSpeed🏁 (Real Name: ???)

[dwtsfun]

As someone who has been trained in jazz I judge the jazz dances pretty hard. If it’s fun and creative I’m willing to be more lenient on actual moves and technique but I really wanna see at least some basic jazz moves. A jazz dance that sticks out to me is Riker and Allison’s. This worked cause Allison is a trained contemporary dancer and Riker had some prior dance experience so he was pulling out jazz turns and axels and actual jazz moves and he did them well. A bad jazz dance that has always stood out to me was Val and Heather’s. Heather can do jazz but Val cannot choreograph jazz. But their jazz dance was during Disney week and Val was trying too hard to be a fun Disney dance. Heather really should’ve been given the opportunity to at least contribute to the choreography for that dance since it’s a style she was good at.

I saw that you corrected yourself in a following message. But just in case anyone else who sees this gets confused, they’re talking about Maks, not Val.

I should probably watch Riker’s jazz again. If I’m remembering correctly, it was a trio dance and reminded me of Corbin’s jazz.

So I rewatched it and it was only similar to Corbin’s because it was a trio with two women and seemed to actually be jazz and not just a DWTS freestyle.

Yeah, Maks should’ve gotten input from Heather (and probably Alan as I’m sure he danced some jazz when he was on SYTYCD).